


Why John Watson Threw Mycroft Holmes into a Pond

by MuddysHuman



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:04:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1225606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuddysHuman/pseuds/MuddysHuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A flash drive with sensitive government information is missing.  Mycroft Holmes summons his brother Sherlock to the scene of the crime to find the flash drive.  John Watson throws Mycroft Holmes into a pond.  It all makes sense...really, it does...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why John Watson Threw Mycroft Holmes into a Pond

It was November 20, 2011, 6:42am and at that hour it was cold and dreary in the far western suburbs of London.  John Watson was ignoring the hour and the cold and the lack of blue sky right now.  Dr. John Watson was staring at the hand of the young soldier, and honestly thought his lungs had stopped working and his heart had stopped beating.  

In the soldiers’ hand, was the missing flash drive.  THE missing flash drive, with its beautifully tooled Ministry of Defence emblem  and bright, royal Purple color, with all the words visible in gold; the same missing flash drive  that had Mycroft Holmes show up at 221B Baker Street at 3:45am with visible signs of panic on his impeccably shaved face.  Even Sherlock, whose normal response to seeing his brother upset at all would be to drive the point home that Mycroft was simply missing his scones and he would feel better once he had his requisite dose of sugar and crème; even Sherlock had immediately shut up as his brother outlined one doomsday scenario after another when and if the flash drive fell into the “wrong” hands, and had listened carefully and promised his brother his full cooperation. 

Sherlock fully cooperating meant that John was “fully cooperating” too. This meant he was standing in the garden of the mid-size suburban estate where the flash drive had last been known to be, listening  to a young soldier, who had introduced himself as    “Lance Corporal Smyth, Sir”!, state, almost with tears in his eyes, that he hadn’t MEANT to pick up the flash drive at all.  It was just in the room, on the floor, where he and Army Driver Helen Trent had been having a bit of fun and when the blasted bugle had sounded announcing the Ambassador’s car had arrived they had to dress so quickly and he ended up shoving his gloves into his pocket.  This morning when the “security breach” alarm blew at 2:30am he went to put the gloves on and he was amazed to see the flash drive.

 And even then, he didn’t  understand what the alarm had been all about until he was allowed to take a five minute “breakfast” break at about 5:30am and the lads were gossiping about the missing item and exactly what was missing.  His voice got weak, as though stuck in his throat, as he spoke of realizing what had happened.  And it wasn’t until the gossips had said Sherlock Holmes was being summoned by his brother Mycroft and Sherlock would be accompanied by his “ex-army” blogger and he thought that a former Army Officer would know what to do, because he didn’t know what to do.

 And John, at that point, had almost lost it.  All this fuss, the air above the estate filled with no less than three helicopters conducting various sensor scans of the house and grounds, the parking area full of limos and 4-wheel drive vehicles and police cars with Detective Inspector Lestrade representing the Metropolitan Police and shouting orders to a steadily increasing army of police personnel…dear God, was that two different trucks of “tracking dogs” arriving?  Yes, it was. And the “missing” flash drive was never really missing and terrorists would not be taking over all communications on the British Islands and the summit would not have to be cancelled and John caught his lungs twitch…but not with air…it was just the involuntary twitch of a lung when its’ owner was trying so very, very hard to not giggle.   “Oh, Lord” thought John,” your sense of humor never fails to amuse me”. 

John’s giggle died in his throat as he saw the desperate despair in the young corporal’s face.  And Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers suddenly realized that there was no way he could let this soldier confess to what had happened because, quite frankly the truth would make all these people who were so very seriously fussing about look foolish and no one in a position of authority could possible allow themselves to look foolish and thus, the young solider would be punished and punished _very severely_.  And that, thought Captain Watson, was not going to happen. 

Of course not being the brilliant detective or his equally brilliant and quite ruthless older brother, John Watson did not have any idea, yet, “How this was not going to happen.” But it wasn’t going to happen.   He wouldn’t let it happen.

He reached out his hand to the young soldier and said in the clipped tones of an Army Officer, “let’s have it, then Corporal” and the Corporal stepped forward, put the flash drive in John’s right hand and stepped back in a position of full attention; waiting for his punishment.  “I’m giving you an order Corporal and I am reminding you that you must follow this order, am I clear?”  The young soldier looked him straight in the eye, brave, resolute and quite doomed and nodded and said, “Right, Sir!”  and John Watson said, in a very normal tone of voice, “You are NEVER to tell anyone what happened regarding this flash drive.” 

“Sir?” and in one word was all the confusion in the world along with genuine anxiety.  “I said, Corporal, you are NEVER to tell anyone what really happened regarding this flash drive because in a very few minutes I will be telling people here that I found it on the grounds and that will end this matter forever.”  “Sir??”, the word was spoken with double the confusion and triple the anxiety and John’s heart melted.  “Listen, Corporal, the important thing is that they get the bloody thing back, not how it accidentally disappeared, so you let me tell them I found it and keep your mouth shut.  Is that clear?”  “Sir, it’s clear, but I don’t think it’s fair that you take the blame either, Sir.”  “Oh, Corporal,” John Watson said with a feral grin, “I didn’t say anything about ME taking the blame either.” 

The young Corporal didn’t even say, “Sir”, in response to this, just stared at him.  And John Watson squared his shoulders and looked the soldier in the eye and said, “Remember, Corporal, this order stands for the rest of your life, you will never say anything about this flash drive or how you found it.  Clear?”  “Clear, Sir, quite clear,” the voice was rock steady in timber, the pitch was tinged with barely detectable doubt. 

John Watson put the flash drive, which now felt like the proverbial hot potato, in his trouser’s pocket and turned around, looking the crowd for his flatmate so that he could hand the flash drive over and let Sherlock claim credit for finding it.  But Sherlock, so tall and usually so easy to spot, was nowhere to be seen.  John did see a constable he knew walk past and quickly catch up with him, asking, “Constable, do you know where Sherlock Holmes is?”  And the Constable hadn’t even slowed his stride, just turned and gave him a passing glance saying, “Mr. Holmes, the Younger, went up in the Ministry Helicopter so he could scan the “entrance and exit” possibilities from the air.”  John said, “thank you” but the Constable had already brushed past him.    

He moved off, distracted at the thought of his often motion sick flat mate up in a helicopter and then coming down, full of excitement from the latest discovery but not able to walk because he really, really, really, did not do well in helicopters.  Of course, had he TOLD John he was going to go up in a helicopter, John could have dosed him to minimize the damages.  Now, there would be nothing left to do but pick up the pieces, meaning, a dark room, a detective flat out on the floor with cold packs on the back of his neck and no movement of any kind for at least two hours.

John moved forward, muttering under his breath about ‘arrogant sods who didn’t have the sense to ask for help’ searching for Detective Inspector Lestrade or one of Mycroft’s minions who could communicate with Sherlock his “urgent” need for an in-person conference.  But there was no Lestrade visible and Mycroft’s minions were busy elsewhere and all he saw were uniformed police and diplomatic personnel;  until he got to the garden terrace which surrounded one of those awful spouting fountains and about half an acre of pond around the fountain with the water gurgling and spouting and splashing and generally reminding everyone of their need to visit the loo, sooner, rather than later, and there he saw Mycroft speaking to Lestrade.  And seeing those two together, and with no Sherlock around to consult, John’s plan developed fully and he saw all the possible outcomes.  He finished his thinking and nodded.   Everything would work out fine as long as he stuck with his very simple theme and didn’t try to complicate things unduly.   

Captain John Watson walked up to Mycroft and smiled politely, waiting to be noticed.  When Mycroft failed to respond to him, in any way whatsoever, John, thought, “great, this will make this so much easier.”  And he stepped forward and poked Mycroft in the stomach with a firm four fingers and snapped out “Oy, mister, I have something to SAY to you!”  Both Mycroft and Lestrade turned to face him, both faces being mirror images of surprise.  And John laughed inwardly again, because their surprise was perfect and there was no time like the present, so he took the flash drive out of his pocket and held it up in front of Mycroft and said, “I found it, do I win the prize?”

Mycroft stared at him incredulously and said, “found it?”  And John replied, “Yes, you pompous twit, exactly where you left it for some poor slob like me to stumble over it yes, I found it!”  and he shoved the flash drive forward at Mycroft, who stared at it dumfounded. Seconds later, it was, in fact,  Lestrade who reached forward and grabbed the flash drive out of his hands.  While Lestrade examined the flash drive,  John folded his arms in front of him and spoke, “Well, Mycroft, what’s my prize for being the butt of this rather stupid test of security or was it just your idea of a bad practical joke?” 

Mycroft’s spoke in his always cultured and always irritating voice.   “My dear John, I have no idea how the flash drive got to wherever you found it, but I am so very grate…”  On the start of the word “grateful”, John interrupted by reaching forward, grabbing Mycroft and tossing him, gently, but thoroughly, out into the water of the pond.  After Mycroft had made a perfect three point (dupa, one foot and one hand) and come up for air sputtering, John shouted  clearly and concisely, “Wrong answer, you pompous  git!” 

When Mycroft stopped sputtering for air, and showed real astonishment on his face, John continued in a very even tone of voice.  “ I have no problem working on real crime and real problems, but I have no patience for practical jokes, practical jokers or people who plan on fooling other people for whatever reason.  I don’t care if this was some legitimate test of security.  I don’t like practical jokes!!!   So knock it off or the next time you come looking for help from Sherlock _, I will make sure he doesn’t help you!!”_

Mycroft’s mouth moved, but no sounds came out.  So, it was Lestrade who broke the awkward silence by shouting, “It’s the real thing, and the Security lock is intact!  And John moved towards him saying, “Of course it’s the real thing.  Oh, now, I get it.  This whole mess was a joint test of estate security between you and the wet man in the water.” 

 Lestrade froze at the look in John’s face and finally blurted out, “No, I didn’t, John, I didn’t know…”  John shouted, “ Second wrong answer of the day!”  He grabbed Lestrade, whose hands were clutched on the flash drive and just as suddenly as with  Mycroft, he picked him  up and threw him and the flash drive into the pond, with a target landing spot  of three feet east by northeast of the spot where Mycroft was sitting.  The splash of Lestrade hitting the pond was quite impressive, as was his flailing about until his head broke clear and he sat up, hair disheveled, still gripping the flash drive. 

John put his hands on his hips and spoke to both men, sitting side by side in a pool of water, “Now hear this!  The Joke of the day is over!  You won!  I get it.  Now _you_ get it!  This little bit of fun on both of you is OVER!  I never want to hear about this, speak of this or have anybody ever mention this day to me ever, ever, ever again.  Got it?  Good!!”  Leaving the soaked men no time to reply, he executed a perfect “turn-to-the-rear” and stalked off, with people scattering in his way.

On the edge of the crowd he spotted the young Corporal  and hailed him, “Corporal Smyth!  Find me some transport back to the rail station!”  And Corporal Smyth had snapped to and said, “Yes sir!  This way, Sir!”  and he had turned and walked briskly away, with John following him.  After a minute of quick march the Corporal slowed briefly and said, “Sir, what did he say?”  and John had grabbed the Corporal’s arm and hurried him along saying, under his breath, “Quick march, Corporal.  We have to get out of here before anyone starts thinking.”

The Corporal nodded and led John through a maze of vehicles till they came across an old and tired “messenger car” and John got in the passenger side and the Corporal got in the driver’s seat.  And John ordered, “to the rail station, as fast as you can!” 

And then the car was moving and they were moving and as they cleared the final wall of the estate, John could hold in his laughter no more and he let out with a huge laugh, from the belly, and he looked over at the young Corporal who suddenly laughed out loud.  And they were both laughing as the vehicle moved through the early morning deserted streets.

At the rail station, the young Corporal saluted him and thanked him all at the same time.  And John repeated his order to “never speak of this again” and the Corporal assured him he would never mention this and thanked him and grinned and looked quite younger than a boy wearing the uniform of a Lance Corporal in the British Army should look.  The vehicle roared away and John turned to the Rail Station and walked through the front door…and out the back and took a cab to St. Bartholomew’s to look up Stamford to spend the day “under the radar”.

He found Stamford with a class of second year medical students and after he had been greeted and returned the greetings he told Stamford and the medical students that he had a “special job” for them and seeing Stamford’s knowing grin, he proceeded to lead the medical students to the dispensary and put them to work cleaning and putting in order the dispensary cabinets and all the medicaments found therein. 

Of course, the joke was, the students were not allowed to so much as pick up a bottle to blow the dust off the top of it, with reciting the name of the medicine, spelling out all the letters at the top of their lungs, rattling off the reason for the drug, the dosage for men, women and children-bonus points if they actually knew if it could be used in veterinary practice as well-and then the side effects and contraindications.  The competition had been fun. 

What could have been a tedious exercise soon became a competitive learning experience with students scrambling to reach the next shelf and information shouted out by more than one student at a time, adding to the general feel of “teaching medicine”  in the middle of a rugby scrum.  And the fun continued all through the lunch break as he had used one of the student’s phones to order pizza delivered, using Sherlock’s debit card to pay for it.

Before he ate, he checked his watch and figuring by now Sherlock would have returned home thinking John would be there as well, he called Molly Hooper and asked her to drop by 221B with two doses of anti-nausea drug, blindfold with built in ice pack and requested that she tell Sherlock to submit to treatment for motion sickness or he could “bloody well join his brother and Lestrade in the pond!”  Molly had insisted on hearing the story and he had told her everything, trusting her implicitly that she would never tell Sherlock the truth.  She started giggling as he spoke and towards the end, after describing Lestrade flying through the air she had broken out in raucous laughter.  And he had laughed as well.  When they calmed down she promised him she was on her way to 221B and she wouldn’t take no for an answer from Sherlock about treating him for motion sickness. 

 After he had eaten his fill of the food he thought that using Sherlock’s money to buy the food, made the food taste extra good.  Then realizing he was “in for a penny, in for a pound”  he had shrugged his shoulders, said out loud, “it’s the perfect day for it” and summoned a cleaning service to come to 221B and clean every nook and cranny.  

Then, getting the hang of spending Sherlock’s money, he had used Sherlock’s debit card to pay for a second refrigerator to be delivered to 221B—marked for food only—so that they could put real food in the new refrigerator, leaving the current flat refrigerator for Sherlock’s experiments.  His final order was to a grocery delivery service to fill the new refrigerator with fresh food of every shape and size.

When he finally arrived home at the flat the next day, having spent the evening at Stamford’s enjoying a “normal” middle class family evening, Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table, still wearing two anti-nausea patches on his neck, and surrounded by two clean refrigerators with clean surfaces everywhere.  He looked up as John approached.  To John’s eyes he looked apprehensive.  And John had smiled at him, thinking, “you really don’t understand “practical jokes” do you?  you most brilliant man I’ve ever known”. 

They spent the day in awkward silence with John perfectly content and Sherlock on edge, trying hard not to touch anything or move anything or say anything.  Once, speaking softly and politely, he tried to engage John in conversation and John had told him bluntly, “we are NOT discussing it, Sherlock, and if you ask me again, so help me, you will go into a pond too.”  Sherlock had retreated to silence.  The longer the awkward silence lasted, the more John enjoyed it. 

When Mycroft “dropped by” and politely accepted a cup of tea and politely inquired about the satisfaction that John had with the new refrigerator and other items, which, of course, the Ministry would pay for as compensation for a job well done, John had wondered why it had never occurred to him before to throw Mycroft into a pond.

                                                   The End.

 


End file.
